Reparations
by thehalfbloodhatter
Summary: If war changes people, then where does repentance begin? Is it when a scared boy lowers his wand at the top of a tower? She likes to think so. When do your reparations atone for your sins? War changes people. It can break you; it can set you free. HBP/DH era Dramione war fic.
1. Darkness

_"Does this darkness have a name? This cruelty, this hatred, how did it find us? Did it steal into our lives or did we seek it out and embrace it? What happened to us that we now send our children into the world like we send young men to war, hoping for their safe return, but knowing that some would be lost along the way. When did we lose our way? Consumed by the shadows. Swallowed whole by the darkness. Does this darkness have a name? Is it your name?"_

- One Tree Hill

* * *

Blood fell instead of rain that night.

She was sure of it; the crimson smear that had become her waking hours had slowly flittered into her stream of consciousness, turning everything a dull shade of scarlet. She could still smell it, taste the metallic copper in her mouth; see the air quiver with the electricity of it. No longer able to distinguish between the crimson gush of waking and the shadowy realm of sleep, she had slowly become more and more convinced that the cacophonous storm assaulting the high arched windows, had too turned into an endless cascade of metallic blood. She lay on her back breathing hard, little flecks of blood dried under her finger nails, still taunting her even in the darkness. _Godric help me _she almost sobbed aloud _there was so much blood. _

Hermione muffled her rising hysteria into her pillow, careful to not wake the peaceful inhabitants of her dormitory. The less they knew about the night's events the better. The deafening sound of the rain and the paralysing misery that had enfolded her in its amorous embrace has become her entire world; unable to think, to feel beyond these hangings, beyond her pain. Their faces swam before her in the darkness. One after the other they came back to her, broken, fragile beings all laid to rest under the linen sheets of the Hospital Wing. Their eyes hollow and empty, unseeing, ignorant to the hopeless place they had left behind.

_Harrietta Fairchild, 25, her delicate features broken and distorted, her snow hair turned scarlet, subjected to physical and emotional trauma, before finally relishing herself to the inevitable darkness. _

_Kay Thornton, 42, his silver wedding ring clutched in his dying hands as he slowly bled to death, no one able to subside the bleeding. He called out her name in his final hours, over and over, a throat tearing, primal scream. Annie. Whether alive or dead they couldn't know. Hermione couldn't decide which she would prefer for the poor girl. _

_Layla Peterson, 13, screaming for her mother who lay two beds over, a linen sheet covering her soft brown features, not hearing her daughter's desperate pleas. _

And so many more; injured, in various stages of death or decomposition they had arrived in drones. The staff and selected pupils doing all they could to help them. It had not been enough. Of the one hundred, only thirty five still lived. By the morning, who knew how many more would be lying stiff and unmoving under the sheets. Hermione's shiver of rage consumed her. The worst part was it could have been her. All muggleborns, one hundred of them, rounded up, most slaughtered, the lucky ones, if you could call them that, only brutally tortured before the Order had shown up. And it could have been her; maybe it should have been her. It could have been anyone unfortunate by birth or circumstance. She let her sobs soothe her to the fringes of sleep again. She wanted to scream, she wanted to lash out and find the monsters that did this and make them pay. Rip them limb from limb until she found some remorse within them. Their faces were haunting her, the ones they couldn't reach in time. Children, their mangled little bodies lying curled up on the floor, so small they could be scooped up three in an arm. Their faces unrecognizable, so utterly broken no one could even close their eyes and pretend they were sleeping. She knew she wouldn't, _couldn't_ forget the feeling, the cold dread slipping into her stomach, the chill that rose through her body steeling her breath and making her head pound, the blind terror that engulfed her when she had walked into that room.

She would hear their screams until her dying day. She wasn't stupid, this was war and she knew it. The innocent were always the first to go, but that didn't mean she could accept it. Letting the merciful blackness take over she fell reluctantly to the fringes of sleep, dreading the inevitable nightmares lurking in the darkness.

* * *

Draco punched the vanishing cabinet mercilessly. Watching dark blood bloom in his finger tips and biting back the pain as he sunk his white knuckles into the dark, splintered mass and pulling them back without examining the damage blindly resumed the attack. He knew this probably wasn't helping his current predicament but he could honestly say he didn't give a fuck.

_If only the fucking thing would work!_

He knew it wasn't the cabinets fault, but it felt better to take it out on this decrepit old cupboard than dwell on his own incompetence. Venomously fighting away the infuriating tears threatening to spill from his rain cloud eyes he slowly sank to the floor. He wouldn't cry, he told himself over and over again. _You will not cry, you will not back down, you are not weak. You have been chosen for this. _His newly acquired Dark Mark gave a particularly painful throb sending spasms of pain up his greying flesh. _"Fuck off"_ he hissed at it darkly, glaring sourly at the ugly black mark. Collecting himself, he fought off the last persistent sobs gathering in his throat and leant his aching head gently against the broken black cabinet, taking a few calming, collective breaths.

_Don't panic _he told himself _you still have a whole year, it will work. It has to work, just keep trying. _Glancing carefully around the crumbling labyrinth of broken, lost, useless objects Draco let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. Dark, dangerous thoughts clouded his mind. He tried to push them away, soothing himself with notions of pride and family honour, but they came anyway, like a never ceasing battle in his head.

_I shouldn't have to deal with this anyway._

But he chose you!

_ Stupid choice really, unless there was some alternate motive behind it... _

For God sake get a grip, you never doubted yourself before!

_But can I really do this... _

No. Do not even go there. We will burn that bridge when we get to it. You _can_ do this, and for fucks sake with the life you're going to have you better get used to it.

_Oh Salazar I can't do this. _

GET A FUCKING GRIP.

_I want to go home..._

The last thought came so quickly he couldn't even try to push it away, bringing with it bittersweet memories of being safe and sound in his mother's arms. His gut gave a painful pang. He was just a kid, barley awake listening to the rain and the soothing sounds of the night. Her soft fingers would trace intricate patterns on his forehead, the gentlest, softest touches he couldn't remember feeling since. What he'd give to be back there now... But home was where the monster was hiding. Home was where his mother's loving, blue eyes had turned hard and unseeing, and his father's pride and elegance had turned to violent rants and alcohol stenched breath. Everything safe and familiar about the place, his mothers tender affection and his father's pride, the elegant demeanour, the blissful fragrance of superiority, all that was gone now. Voldemort had taken his home and all that came with it.

Yes, as much as it scared him to admit it, he couldn't deny he thought of his master as nothing less than a monster. He just couldn't bring himself to look at him the way he father did. He'd tried, Salazar knows he'd tried but he couldn't. He repulsed him. He stood for his family, for his blood and for his status in the world but he simply couldn't bring himself to pretend to regard Voldemort in the highest love and devotion like his father. Maybe over time he would- like the gaunt, drawn men he knew so well- slowly loose his soul in servitude to the monster. Maybe after he'd topped the old man his eyes would take on the cold, dead, hollow look that glinted below the surface of his father's, but just now, the only thing he felt towards the snakelike man was repulsion and anger.

Cold fury for the man who had broken his family.

* * *

a/n: This is my first Dramione fic, so reviews would really be appreciated as I'm a little- shall we say _wobbly_ about it. Oh well, tell me if you liked it, tell me if you didn't, constructive criticism is always appreciated! Ok so I think I should warn you, this fic is rated M for very good reasons. You've been warned.

Ok a few more things, a) this story will take place HBP/DH era, it starts at the begging (about October) of the sixth year and finishes (hopefully) at the end of the second. b) I'm sorry for any grammatical and/ or spelling errors, It's about 5am and I was _desperate _to finish this so yeah, I'm sowwy, please don't hesitate to point them out and I will fix them. c) The next chapter is kind of, partially, maybe already done, so expect that soon and finally d) I know this chapter wasn't very exacting but I needed to, set the scene and such, just bear with me ok, it gets better(I think).

Ok that's about it, next chapter soon, all my love and hugs.

THBH x


	2. Collisions

The raven haired witch exhaled slowly her cutting, ice blue eyes trained to his face.

"You're doing _what?_" she breathed.

Draco watched the small orange sparks dying in the cold, dank, autumnal air with an easy smirk. The soft orange firelight played on her face, illuminating every shadow of her barley suppressed awe. The room was darkened, the only light coming from the softly glowing fire, making everything glow with a shimmering, soft orange hue. The trio sat in Draco and Blaise's two man dormitory, a small smattering of rain drops still assaulting the high arched window in which the darkening sky was clearly visible. It was only around 6pm, but the remnants of last night's storm had not quite relinquished the castle from its icy embrace, turning everything a dull, mundane shade of grey.

"Oh don't sound too shocked" he drawled "it was only a matter of time. I can't say I'm too surprised myself, you see _some people_ have actually earned his respect." He raised an eyebrow at Blaise who was lounging haughty and indifferent on the opposite bed, long dark fingers picking absently at the emerald bedspread, somehow immune to the explosive atmosphere Draco's words had induced.

"Draco" Pansy muttered softly, extending one pale hand to touch his face, then immediately withdrawing, as though she thought better of it "this is incredible."Blaise scoffed.

"What in hell would he want with you? You're not even of age, and you have no qualifications; what use could he possibly have for you?" The poised boy laughed mirthlessly.

"Well maybe" Draco snarled "the type of job he's assigned me doesn't need skill...Maybe he wants me to do something more important; something only _I_ can do." He let his sentence fall away, feeling the charged air quiver with the aftershock of his words, outside the drizzle picked up momentum, filling the room the dull, rhythmic sound of falling rain. Blaise's eyes flashed in the fire light and Pansy's hand shot to her mouth.

"So" she whispered tentatively "he's already- I mean, you actually have a _mission_."

Her eyes glowed with admiration and warmth coursed through Draco's veins. He felt almost like his old self again; like a Malfoy. His pride swelled inside him chasing away the doubts of the past few days. Hell, Parkinson certainly didn't do anything for him anymore, but just now with her ebony hair hanging loose and her eyes watching him like he was some glorious deity; he felt a bout of affection for the ashen witch. At least she was making him feel like himself again, like this mission wasn't completely futile. "Obviously" he sneered "he didn't choose me to hug fucking Hufflepuff's did he! No the Dark Lord _certainly_ has a mission for me._" _Pansy's wide eyes searched his face with open fascination, whilst Blaise just watched Draco carefully; his dark, slanting eyes unreadable.

"What is it?" the awestruck witch breathed.

"Well I can't tell you can I!" he snapped, "the Dark Lord trusted _me_ above all over's."Blaise gave a humourless laugh.

"You can laugh Blaise" he sneered "we'll see just who's laughing in the end..."

* * *

Hermione had always taught herself to be patient. To be forgiving and kind and _understanding, she_ had alwaysprided herself on being a good person, a _decent, _honest person. So why did she suddenly feel like she was none of those things anymore?

She sat in the darkened common room, head in her hands, her unspoken apology hanging on the end of her tongue, making the newly descended silence almost painful. The shadows encircled her and she let her eyes flicker closed, biting the bottom of her lip, drawing blood. She knew her best friends had only been trying to help, to _understand, _and of course her outburst had been inexcusable but they _couldn't_ understand. That was the problem, no one could. It was as if the horrors of that dreadful night had been imprinted within her; snapped some vital part of her existence. As though the ever vigilant storm that had held the castle captive for so long raged inside of her; a dull grey mist eloping her, turning her kindling Gryffindor fire to ash, extinguishing the light in her eyes. The whole world was crumbling, falling apart; so why not let herself be taken with it? They had sat on the hearth rug for hours, talking once again in circles all night long. Always the same, the war, The Order, Dumbledore, Horcruxes, and most recently Draco Malfoy, all these subjects blurring together into one unattainable question mark until she'd finally snapped. It wasn't them, she just didn't want to listen anymore; she _couldn't_ take anymore darkness in her life. War was taking its toll on her, consuming her like everything else in its path. And when did it end? When did it begin? Was it when he returned two years ago? Was it when he tried to get the philosophers stone? Was it before that even? Had she been unknowingly born into the darkness? She was almost certain she would die in it. Maybe it never ended, maybe it never began, perhaps there was only brief rest bites between it, illusions of sunlight and one thing was certain, this war had broken her, perhaps irreparably.

Footsteps sounded on the marble stairs leading to the girl's dormitory. She knew before the fiery mane of crimson appeared who it would be. _Should have known the boys wouldn't just take my advice and leave me well alone... _

"Hermione?" her voice was soft, horribly sympathetic. She didn't deserve that.

"Hey Ginny, let me guess Ron sent you too check up on me?"

"No" she said, not at all convincing, "I just noticed you hadn't come up to bed, I was worried..."

"I'm fine Ginny" she spoke, perhaps a little too briskly.

"Yeah" she raised an eyebrow "you sure, I mean, you can talk to me, you know that right?"

"Of course, thank you" she said quietly, eyes fixed on the dying embers of the fire, spitting elusive orange sparks into the frigid night air. "I just, um, McGonagall said I should do some research for the Order and I'm kind of busy right now..." She didn't enjoy lying to her, but the thought of company or of even continuing this conversation made Hermione want to curl up and scream. Couldn't they see she needed to be alone?

"Oh right" Ginny said unabashed "well I'll leave you too it then" and without further ado she turned to mount the marble staircase back to her dormitory. Somehow the lie caught hold of her. Professor McGonagall _had _given her permission to visit the library anytime she needed regarding her work for the Order, and _technically_ this didn't exclude 2am, she never said explicitly when _'_anytime' was... Her need to do something useful overcame her and casting a glance around the deserted room she got shakily to her feet. Sitting still was killing her. She wanted to go do something, _to fight_. But she was underage, and even being the 'brightest witch of her age' had restrictions. She could only help the order from inside Hogwarts. She sighed.

_And fat lot of good I've been caged up here. _She started towards the portrait hole, her mind whirling, her breaths laboured.

* * *

_They were coming for him; faceless, nameless, monsters their eyes sunken and hollow, their stale, cold breath rising in swirls of smoke on the air. He couldn't move; arms pinned behind him, body rigid with terror. Somewhere to his left his mother was screaming, blind terror in her shrill voice slicing Draco's ear drums, cleaving his head in two._

_"Draco!" she screeched, "save me, save me Draco!" _

_But he couldn't move. It was too dark, and he was held rigid by some unknowable force. The black, faceless beings around him began to change; their forms shifting, distorting violently until they morphed into one being. Lord Voldemort stood before him, scarlet eyes burning. __"Draco" he hissed, but instead of the high, cold voice he anticipated, it was the slur of a snake, rasping and drawn. "Do it Draco, you know your destiny" the snakelike man slurred, a forked tongue slivering out of his master's mouth.__The darkness was sliced by a blinding flash of green. His mother screamed one last time. He watched as her chest heaved and stopped. She was lying, broken and defeated at his feet; her blood pooling black around her. Her soft, blonde features a dull crimson, lips slightly parted, her eyes still alive in her face, watching him agonisingly._

The screaming never ended. His eyes searched the darkness, a much lighter, softer colour than the absolute blackness he had endured. Someone was calling his name again. He looked around, terror consuming him, eyes wild, searching for her scarlet features in the darkness. Trying desperately to mend the broken, bloody mess he had created. To put the light back in her eyes...

"DRACO!" the voice was heavy, masculine; thick with worry. Clamping his mouth firmly closed; silencing the screams he now recognized as his own, he raised a shaking, ghostly pale hand to wipe the sweat and unmistakably tears from his cheeks. A small light flared into existence inches from his, revealing the dark, slanting eyes of Blaise Zabini peering at him through the charged night air.

"Draco" he repeated, his voice soft yet reproachful "you ok mate..."

Draco sighed, a small sound of relief escaping his trembling lips into the darkness. "I'm fine" he supplied hastily, trying hard to hide the tremor in his voice. "Just a bad dream that's all" he spoke firmly, more to himself than the bedraggled Wizard across from him; he swore he could still feel her warm, scarlet blood on his hands...

Blaise watched him apprehensively. "You sure, I mean I can go get someone if you want..." his sentence trailed away meekly at the look on Draco's face.

"I said I'm fine Blaise" he snapped "I don't need anyone, go back to sleep."

The taller wizard gave him one last searching look before plunging the room once more into the greying darkness, and in what seemed like no time at all his deep, heavy, sleeping breaths had filled the room. Cautiously Draco lay back on the covers, pressing his sweaty palms to his eyes.

_What the fuck had that been?_

He'd had nightmares before of course- a lot more than he cared to admit lately- but never had one been so _vivid, _so real. He lay still for a long time, but the deep-seated fatigue he knew he should feel within him never came. The aftershock of his dream chasing away any remnants of hope born from Pansy's awe and shrouding him in a cold plague of despair. It was about 3am and the sky was a dull, starless black, the same pressing darkness that had smothered him in his dream; threatening to overtake him once more. Deciding he would rather fight exhaustion tomorrow than return to his nightmares, Draco tugged an ill fitting black tee shirt over his subtly muscled chest and carefully left the room. The door closed with a muffled thump and pausing for a moment to check his friend was still asleep, he started down the heavily carpeted corridor. There was, he decided, a good chance of getting caught if he so much as set a foot outside the common room but a daring reckless seized him and without further thought he stole away into the eerily silent corridors of Hogwarts castle. Letting his feet carry him up to the third floor and not even bothering to keep to the shadows Draco let out a long, deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

_It's this fucking castle _he mused _being caged up here is driving me round the twist. _It was dark, silent and empty in the lonely corridors. He felt like he was a ghost wandering the halls and meandering silently down a musty corridor he found himself outside the surprisingly unlocked library. Peering at the unlatched door inquisitively he took a tentative step inside, feeling the quite, calm, muffled air of the place close around him. Not a place he would have visited normally, but tonight he was a nought but a shadow. A window was open, a small breeze penetrating the room, a sliver of pearly moonlight casting elongated shadows between the bookshelves. Immediately craving the fresh air he set out toward it, his eyes firmly set on the patch of starless sky visible between the dusty, enclosed bookshelves, his heart beating far too loud.

He didn't even notice her until they collided.

* * *

a/n: Ok first and foremost I do hope you enjoyed this and if you did, review pretty please, and if you didn't well, constructive criticism is always welcome! Ok secondly, alas I have changed the name! If you read the first chapter as 'Safe and Sound' and are now confused, fear not, 'Reparations' is here to stay (I think) so tell me what you think of that. Most importantly, please if you see any grammatical/ spelling errors don't hesitate to let me know! I suck at that and I tend to only get time to write at about 3am, at which point my brain doesn't really register punctuation.

Now for an abundance of apologies: - Sorry if this is a bit- well, boring at the moment, I promise it will get more exciting, starting in the next chapter *duh-duh-duh* also, sorry the romance is a build up, but it will be worth it and sorry for the semi cliffhanger, I promise to upload soon, going away in a week so plenty of time for scribbling on the 4 hour train ride *sigh*. Finally, you might want to look out for a lot of hidden meanings, metaphors and foreshadowing in this chapter (my old English teacher would be proud) 10 points to Gryffindor (or whatever house you're) in if you leave me a review spotting it, or just any review really.

Please review. Please. Yes I'm shamelessly begging. Pleeeaaaaseee, even if it's only one word, I appreciate it so much, and it makes my day. Literally when I see that little notification email pop up on my phone I squeal with joy and jump up and down!

THBH x


	3. Crescendo

An invasion of the senses; the calm, musty, leather-bound world she immersed herself in; the indulgent, cool night breeze caressing her face; and the softly flickering glow of the candle – all replaced by an onslaught of sensory anarchy. Her vision obscured, there was a great wall of nothingness before she saw the floor rush up to meet her. The soothing smell of parchment and night air was swallowed by the scent of masculinity infused with sandalwood and a hint of peppermint. She felt a blinding pain in her midriff and the familiar tang of copper in her mouth. She muffled a groan, a dull throb ensnaring her lower back. Her head swam as she blearily opened her eyes, feeling the small enclosed space between the bookshelves close in on her. The candle had been knocked from the table and extinguished. The darkness was suffocating. A single slant of moonlight penetrated the darkened room, casting shadows onto her face.

Someone groaned before her. She could just make out his solid form in the darkness. She squinted, her eyes searching his face through the unprecedented blackness – pale, silver-blonde hair, greying blue eyes, straight, pristine features and chintz skin. It looked almost like . . .

"Malfoy?" she gasped. She pulled herself into a more dignified position, gasping as she watched with sick fascination the slow, steady crimson teardrops oozing from a gash on his forehead. Feeling her eyes trained to the gaping wound, he raised one ghostly hand and, seeing it come back capped with crimson, he let out a small yelp.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" he roared into the darkness. His opal eyes combed the blackness in a panic before they finally came to rest on Hermione, who was backed against one of the towering bookcases, her features softly blurred by the small slant of illumination. He shuddered slightly, his thoughts still an unattainable mass circling his throbbing head. She looked almost ethereal, her ghostly bent form shrouded with the one shaft of moonlight breaching the darkened room. He watched transfixed for a second before his head gave a particularly painful throb and the spell was broken. "Granger," he snarled, "what the fuck do you think you're playing at, tackling me to the floor in the middle of the fucking night?!"

"It was an accident," she offered meekly. "Don't be such a baby, Malfoy. Here, let me." She raised her wand, advancing on the wizard still sprawled on the floor a few feet away from her.

He jumped away, repulsed. "Don't you dare touch me! Don't you dare come near me with your filthy fingers; and I can fix it myself, thanks!"

She gulped and dropped back into her crescendo of moonlight, drawing her knees to her chest and feeling ridiculously vulnerable.

He raised his wand and, with a fluid motion, left the skin below white-blonde hairline as pristine and ghostly pale as before. Sensing her fawn eyes watching him through the blackness, he injected the venom once more into his voice. "Granger, it's 2 AM. People with faces like yours shouldn't be allowed to lurk in darkened rooms at this time of night, least of al go charging into innocent bystanders! You could have given me a heart attack, seeing your face looming around darkened corridors," he growled, pulling himself from the floor. He sat back against the bookshelf opposite her whilst carefully removing flecks of dried blood from his hairline. "I can't believe you knocked me over. Ugh!"

"Actually, you walked into me," she stated without much conviction.

He watched her steadily, expecting some witty retort and perhaps a hex to his already marred face, but she simply sat in her pool of moonlight, looking haunting and slightly eerie. Was it his imagination or did the mudblood look slightly more dejected than usual? The shadows on her skin glowed prominently in the silver light, and that look in her eyes – like she hadn't slept for a thousand years – didn't he know that look? Didn't he see it every time he looked in the mirror? 'What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?" he snapped. "Don't tell me you're such a prissy shit that you study in the middle of the night!"

"I happen to be working and, unlike you, I actually have a completely justified reason to be here. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I-I," he stammered. "I was just- I mean, I-"

"Yeah, I thought as much. You wouldn't want me to tell McGonagall about this."

"Yeah, I'm sure that old bat would just love to hear how you're assaulting people in the middle of the night." Then Draco almost did a double take. Did she just – no, he must've mistaken it. Did the mudblood just smile at him? Probably not, but he could have sworn the ghost of a smirk had crossed her face – a small, somewhat sad smile. Well, whatever it was, it was gone in the shadow of a second. He shifted uncomfortably, but she went right back to looking like the incarnation of misery.

Her eyes watched him, remaining unreadable. The small, dark shadows lingering beneath them told him more than her elusive smirk ever could. He shivered a little, perhaps from the harsh breeze from the still ajar window as he noticed, rather unhelpfully, that her eyes – contrary to popular belief – were not brown, but more of a honey-golden colour, flecked with auburn and intoxicated with a slightly darker, deeper chocolate color, which flashed when she turned her head towards the oncoming moonlight.

_Muggles and their fucked up genetics,_ he thought moodily, picking at the last remnants of blood dotting his hairline.

"Well," he said hastily. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I'd rather not be uncouthly assaulted by you again, Granger. I don't know if it's some kind of fucked up muggle mannerism to hurl yourself at the male species whenever they are unwittingly wandering a darkened room, but it's one I do not – under any circumstances – appreciate."

He hastily pulled himself to his feet, eager to vacate the doleful witch and forget this bizarre experience ever happened. What he hadn't accounted for was the floor rushing up to meet him as an unhelpful rush of blood surged to his head. He staggered, knees buckling, and swayed for a second before falling unceremoniously to the position he had vacated seconds before. There it was again, that insufferable little there-and-gone demi-smile that both infuriated him and made something dangerously close to elation stir in his chest. _Salazar, save me. This place is really driving me 'round the twist. . . ._

Anger boiled within him, and he was rather suddenly struck with the urge to wipe that infuriating, elusive smirk off her filthy face. If he was going to be caged, tormented and driven to the point of insanity, he wanted her – this moon-bathed, filthy creature whose blood status alone ensured she deserved this agony a hell of a lot more than he did – to feel at least a small part of it. He advanced on her, wand raised, the anguish of the last month poised on his tongue.

She drew her own wand dejectedly, not at all alarmed by his inexplicable anger. Perhaps she hit her head when she fell. What did she think she was doing, almost smiling at him? Their faces – never far from her mind – swam before her in the shimmering darkness. The broken, beautiful dead, all lying too soon in the ground because of people like him! Her own anger flared, and any doubts she expressed to Harry vanished. His expression alone told her everything about the darkness within Draco Malfoy.

They both stood, wands raised, while the wind howling through the open window made the hairs on the back of her neck prick up.

"Go on, then," he sneered. "As if you'd dare do anything to me," taunted.

"Oh, let's not pretend we don't both know I could send you crawling back to bed in a million slimy pieces and do my homework at the same time!" she snapped, unfazed.

Laughing bitterly, he flicked his wand threateningly, but made no move to hex her. Something inside him purred with pleasure at seeing the hate boil in Granger's eyes. Merlin, he needed this, needed to make her feel as lowly as she really was, and he didn't need a wand for that. He chose his words carefully, calculatedly, the malice alive in his voice. "Cut the crap, Granger. Shall we just get to the real reason you're here at 2 AM? Let's face it; everybody knows you only swot up so much because you have absolutely fuck all else going for you. It's glaringly, transparently obvious! You're an insufferable, irritating mudblood who looks like some form of deranged beaver, so don't keep up some high and mighty pretense! You just have to fucking prove yourself all the time, don't you? It doesn't fucking work! Everyone can see you're just a pathetic muggle with a few magic tricks, so spare me your bullshit."

She recoiled slightly, but didn't back down. Her eyes blazed. "Oh, _I'm_ pathetic? You're going to question my reasoning for being here? I happen to be working on something a whole lot bigger than school work. What are you doing here, Draco?"

"And don't even get me started on your inferiority. I mean, just look at you! Even Weaselbee won't have you, so why don't you just snap your wand in half now, and go live with the muggles?" He continued his rant, his wand still poised loosely at her chest, watching silkily and drawing his words as his face twisted into an arrogant smile. He could tell his comment on her orange pet had infuriated her, and he resumed the attack. He didn't lose his cool. He'd hit a nerve, and he relished in it. As much as he told himself it was simply because of her blood, annoying, bossy little voice and stuck up personality that was driving him to this argument, he couldn't exactly quell the feeling that it was something else entirely.

_Like jealousy, maybe?_

He laughed. Why would he be jealous of this jumped-up mudblood?!

_Maybe because she has freedom, or maybe because she has choices_, a small, niggling voice at the back of his mind chimed most unhelpfully.

"Or is that why you're really here?" he bit back before his turbulent thoughts consumed him once more. "Potty too mighty now, being the chosen one and all, to care for a pathetic muggle like you? Weaselbee too busy fucking Brown senseless to pay you any attention-?"

"Shut up! Shut the hell up, Malfoy!" she roared, her face reddening.

He laughed victoriously, knowing he had defiantly hit a nerve, and persisted with the obviously sensitive topic of the feckless morons she evidently loved so much. "I doubt Weasel and The Infamous Orphan ever gave a fuck, really. I mean, Weasley would actually need brain cells to care about anything, and Potty's too busy having his hero complex to really pay you much attention. In fact, I doubt they're even going to be bothered when the Dark Lord finally fives you what's been coming your way for a long time, Granger."

"YOU'RE PATHETIC, JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER!" the thunderstruck witch roared. "You skulk around here at night, trying to pick a fight, because you think maybe you can do something to finally make daddy proud—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT MY FATHER, YOU JUMPED-UP LITTLE—"

"WELL, GUESS WHAT, DRACO! YOU'RE A FAILURE, JUST LIKE HIM; JUST LOOK AT YOU!"

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" His blood raged within him. She was finally saying it, the thing he feared, yet had wanted her to say so badly. The word haunted him, cleaving his head in two and echoing dully around his mind. _Failure . . . ._

_Failure. . . ._

"You're a wreck, Malfoy. Everything about you screams it. You want to talk about transparency? I can see right through you—"

"I SWEAR TO GOD, GRANGER, ONE MORE FUCKING WORD!"

"You're vile. You repulse me, but you know what I think? I think, most of all, you repulse yourself."

She was pinned against the wall before she could even cry out. His hand was on her wrist, nails dragging across the fragile skin there, and his eyes were blazing. "I warned you, Granger. I warned you to shut the hell up!" His voice was a venomous, low and dangerous snarl.

"Get the hell off me!" she cried, trying desperately to wrench her arm from his vice-like grip.

"Twitchy little mudblood, going to get what you deserve." He reached for his wand and, in his moment of distraction, she tore her wrist from his grip and sent him hurtling into the polished oak bookshelf, large dusty volumes crashing down around him.

"Don't you ever," she advanced on him dangerously, barely suppressed rage tearing at her throat, "touch me again."

He sent a flash of scarlet light hurtling mercilessly at her. She was too quick for him and, deflecting it easily, her mouth pulled into a cold sneer – a cruel parody of the elusive demi-smile he had almost witnessed earlier. Keeping her wand hand steady, the festering rage that had been brewing with her these past few days surged to the surface. What she'd give to turn the arrogant, vile, evil piece of filth crawling back to his room in a thousand pieces. The faces of the deceased, never far from her mind, seemed to quiver in the air around her like static. She turned her eyes down to where he was still lying on the floor, fully expecting to see his wand spewing sparks and his mouth in a cruel line.

He watched her steadily as though calculating her movements, something bizarrely like relief flashing in his eyes at the witch's blazing fury.

She lowered her wand slightly, taking in his dejected, pitiful appearance.

"WHAT?" he exploded, cutting the eerie stillness descending upon them," YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DO ANYTHING? HIT ME AGAIN? CURSE ME? GO ON, I FUCKING DARE YOU, GO ON!"

Her wand wavered slightly, and then fell as she eyed him sadly. "Malfoy, what—"

"FUCKING GO ON, GRANGER, HIT ME! COME ON, WHAT HAVE YOU GOT?!" he roared.

"Malfoy, I'm not going to hit you," she replied, aghast.

His heart thundered. Couldn't she see he needed this? He couldn't – wouldn't – explain to himself why, but Salazar, he needed this. He needed to feel her rage, her fire. He needed to be consumed by hear and hatred. He wanted to be burned. He couldn't explain it, even to himself, but in that moment, he wanted her to hurt him so badly. His blood coursed through him, intoxicated by her heat, like electricity, or the charge at the heart of a storm. Her fury was touching him like nothing else ever had, ensnaring him until all he could feel was delicious, white-hot emotion. After feeling so dead for so long, he wanted her pain more than anything in the world. She hated him, and finally, the thing at the back of his mind Pansy has only scratched the surface of this morning broke like a dam. He could feel. She hated him, and he felt it, and it made him lose control. The crescendo – the eye of the inferno – it embraced hi, consumed him. The darkness was broken, leaving something white-hot in its place.

Hermione watched him, aghast. "I'm not going to hit you," she repeated faintly. Whatever darkness she felt inside her, this wasn't chasing it away. The inexplicable truth was she didn't want to hurt him. She just couldn't bring herself to when he looked at her with those pain-smeared eyes. The fight had gone out of him and left him at her feet, at her mercy, with an expression horribly like passion – like need. She didn't know what he was feeling – didn't know what had broken Draco Malfoy and reduced him to this, but she wouldn't hurt him.

She knew his expression all too well. He welcomed her pain, because it was the only thing that could make him feel. The only way he could release the hatred and the pain within him. She knew it too well, because it haunted her reflection so perfectly. And that scared her more than anything she had seen tonight. And it told her something; war. That's what it told her. This was war, just as much as the broken, bloody bodies imprinted on her soul affirmed it. She was, once again, seeing the evidence of the ebbing tide of war before her.

_One more broken soul._

She eyed him carefully one last time, seeing her own shrouded pain in his silver-blue eyes. She turned abruptly and ran from the room, not quite breaking down, but not quite holding it together either. She ran for what felt like a long time, but it was only a matter of minutes, back through the dark labyrinth of the decrepit old school.

He just breathed. Laid there and breathed for a long time, his thoughts a jumbled mess and his eyes burning. A faraway noise brought him back to himself, and he, too, headed back to his bed. The brunette's running footsteps long since ghosts in the still, silent halls.

* * *

a/n: Hello my lovelies! I am so sorry this has taken so long to upload! Gah, I am so so sorry! Please forgive me! I've just been so busy, college started last week and I already have mountains of work and I've just had a total block towards this chapter. I'm still not happy with it but I had to update at some point so here, it's terrible I know! I'm typing away from a college computer so forgive me for any spelling mistakes in this as they appear to not have a spell check. Wtf right? Anyway praying no one's been reading this over my shoulder, and I must say a massive thank you to my lovely beta who is just beyond amazing! I promise to have my next chapter up in two weeks, honestly, cross my heart! Anyway bells about to go so got to run, thanks for your continued support

THBH x


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